In Which We Learn Why Chas is Not Allowed to Help
by Darko28
Summary: Pre-Movie Chas tried to help once before, during a routine exorcism on his 18th birthday. Well, there's a reason why he had to sit in the car from then on. HumorDrama. PG-13 for cursing.


**Title:** In Which We Learn Why Chas is Not Allowed to Help OR Happy Birthday, Chas

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. The lyrics are from "Pressed in a Book" by The Shins.

**Rating:** PG-13 for extreme cursing and...vomiting.

**Genre:** Humor/Drama

**Author's Note:** Well, I don't know where the hell this all came from. I was to write a short little one-shot and it turned into a 4,000 one-shot! I tried to stay as in character as possible and I think I dd a pretty good job of that. I hope you all enjoy it and reviews would be very welcome.

_**

* * *

**_

_**As we walk and make plans in the dark  
Or make haste with the boy who can't help**_

* * *

"C'mon, kid, get your ass up," John commanded, throwing a book at the small, sleeping figure lying on his pullout couch. "We're going out."

Chas groaned and rubbed his temple where the rare (and mistreated) text had hit him. It was three o'clock in the morning and thunder blared through the night sky outside of John's cold apartment. All in all, Chas did not especially feel like going out.

"What the fuck?" he mumbled, popping his head over the couch. A few feet away, the Great John Constantine stood dressed in only his boxers and an unbuttoned white shirt.

"C'mon, Chas, get up." Another book came flying at the boy, but this one he caught. Amazing reflexes, he thought, considering the fact that he could barely see a thing.

"Have you no respect," Chas accused, standing."For rare books?"

"No," John replied casually, pulling on his trousers. "Not this early in the morning."

"Oh, oh, good! So you do tell time! In that case, could you please clue me in onto why you're throwing demonology books at my head at three o'clock in the morning? Because I swear, John, I swear, if you want me to drive to gas station just because you need a pack of fucking cigarettes again, I will kill you myself-"

"Relax, kid," John said, grabbing his nearly full pack of smokes off the counter. "This is business."

Chas' disposition brightened immeadiately. No longer did it matter what time it was. "Can I come inside this time?" Chas questioned, hopefully.

"You might have to." John popped a cigarette in his mouth and flicked open his gold lighter. "Hennessey's out of town and this one might get a little hairy. Now, hurry up and get dre-"

John stopped short. In a flash, Chas had pulled on his rumpled, wrinkled clothes and was heading towards the door, car keys jangling in his pocket.

"I'll go get the car," Chas called over his shoulder as he raced into the hallway, slamming the door behind himself.

John lit his cigarette and let out a mouthful of smoke. It sure as hell didn't take a lot to make that kid happy.

* * *

"You should have taken Parkway," John said as Chas pulled into the parking lot of a rundown apartment complex. "Park there. No, not there, over there!"

Usually Chas hated it when John with the backseat driving, but right then, nothing could spoil his mood. After two years of reading and studying, two years of toiling and slaving for John, he was finally going to see the master at work. He was finally going to be able to actually do something worthwhile.

_I'm going to make you proud, John,_ he thought to himself as he watched John point towards a parking space in his rearview mirror. _I'm going to make you realize that you need me as much as I need you._

"You sure you can do this, kid?" John dropped his cigarette out the window and looked expectantly at Chas.

Chas, in all honesty, was scared shitless. He would never have told John that, though. He tried to bury the queasy feeling forming in his stomach as far down as possible. He had never actually _seen_ an exorcism go down before, he had read all about it. The books even had pictures sometimes.

He knew that couldn't really substitute book knowledge for the real thing, especially since he knew for a fact that John wasn't a 'by the books' kind of guy. He was a fucking crazy kind of guy, actually, but Chas had learned to live with that. What he was really worried about was screwing up in front of someone so reknowned, someone who had taken him in when he had no place to go. He had to start earning his keep eventually, he supposed. He couldn't just mooch off of John forever.

Besides, he was older now. Wiser. Today was his birthday. He was eighteen now; he could legally smoke if he wanted to (although he didn't really want to. He emulated John, sure, but he didn't want to cough up a lung everytime he lit up like the guy. That was taking the whole hero worship thing a bit too far).

He knew what he had to do. He had gone over every possible scenario in his mind at least a million and one times. Heeven practicedin the mirror in the bathroom when John went out. He would start with an old classic, like "This is Kramer. Chas Kramer, asshole." (which he had heard John mumble in his sleep more times than once. He sort of liked the way it sounded with his own name in there), followed by something devastatingly dramatic like "Your day of reckoning has come," or "Go to hell, you piece of shit!".

He liked both, really, but he didn't want to over do it.

"Chas? Chas! Do you really think you can do this?"

Chas nodded. And nodded. And nodded.

"Chas. You have to get out of the car."

"Oh, right, sorry," the young apprentice mumbled, fumbling with his seatbelt. He stumbled into the street and raced over to the other side where John was already out and setting his bag on the top of the car.

"Look, Chas, Hennessey's not here to brief me, so I'm not clear on what the hell is going on up there. It could just be a routine exorcism, or maybe something worse. Just in case, take this."

John pulled out what looked like a gold plated handlebar and Chas' mouth dropped open in admiration.

"Dragon's Breath," Chas murmured in an astonished tone. John wouldn't give this to him if he didn't trust him. He had to have some faith in his apprentice if he was letting him even touch something to so dangerous.

"Now listen, you little asshole," John hissed, jabbing a finger into Chas' chest. "You'd better not use this unless you are dying or dead, got it?"

_Good old John_, Chas thought. "I think I can handle it," he retorted matter-of-factly. "I've read all about this."

Snorting, John thrust the Dragon's Breath into Chas' outstretched hand. Chas then promptly...dropped it. A line of fire shot out of the small vessel, straight towards where John had been standing a few moments before. The fire scortched the right rear tire of the car and the night air was filled with the smell of burning rubber. The flame went out and John stood right where he was. He didn't try to pick it up, he didn't move at all. He just stared at Chas with a look of anger and contempt.

"I guess your books didn't teach you how to actually hold it, did they, Chas? Huh, kid?" he asked after a moment, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Chas, his face flushed with embarressment, picked up the Dragon's Breath and handed it to John. "Maybe," he said grudgingly. "Maybe you should hold that."

Without a word, John snatched it from the kid and threw his bag at him. "You can carry that; it doesn't spurt fire."

"Well, thank you John," Chas muttered under his breath as they started towards the apartment building. "Thank you for showing such consideration of my wellfare, you big asshole-"

His arms went flying up as he tripped over the curb and fell to the pavement. The bag flew up and hit John on the head before dropping right next to Chas. He pulled himself and brushed himself off, trying to act as if nothing had happened.

"Do you want to sit in the fucking car?" John questioned, pointing towards where it sat next to the curb. Smoke was still rising from the burned tire.

Chas shook his head wildly and gave John his most pleading, begging look. With a sigh, John popped a new cigarette in his mouth and lit it with his lighter. He walked into the building and motioned for Chas to follow.

_Don't be such a fucking spaz,_ Chas chastised himself internally. _This is your one shot, you can't afford to blow it. You have to prove yourself to the asshole._

"Excuse me sir," the night watchman said as John and Chas entered the lobby. "There is no smoking here. If you could please-"

John didn't even turn his way. He just flipped off the agast watchman and stepped into the elevator, Chas trailing behind him.

Chas figured he should probably apologize for roasting John's car. It was the polite thing to do.

"I'm-"

"Don't say a word," John warned, taking a drag on his cigarette. "I'm not in the mood for apologies. Just don't screw up again. You'd better watch your ass when we get in there. I'm not going to watch it for you."

Chas bobbed his curly head up and down in agreement. _Watch your ass,_ he recited internally. It would be his new mantra. _Watch your ass, watch your ass._

John let out a sigh as the elevator doors opened and the pair stepped out into the hallway. He was not a big fan of exorcisms. He hated the smell most of all. It always smelled like death and decay. But, hey, the gigs usually paid well and he had to pay the bills somehow. Ever since Chas had gotten himself kicked out of his parents apartment he'd been crashing on John's couch (uninvited, of course). While John may have been an asshole, he wasn't heartless. Not completely. He just couldn't bear to see the kid living on the streets.

Although Chas could be pretty damn annoying ("Can I come with you, John?", "What does this button do, John?", "Sorry, John, I didn't realize the curtains were flammable."), for some strange, peculiar reason, John didn't seem to mind. Not much, at least. The kid had grown on him. He sort of liked him. He wouldn't be too torn up if he died, but yeah, he sort of like the kid.

_Ok,_ John though._ Maybe that was little harsh._

Plus, he needed Chas. The Great John Constantine had saved countless lives, he had faced hell itself, he had deported more demons that he could count, but he just didn't have a knack for driving. The speeding tickets buried at the bottom of his sock drawer could attest to that.

John knocked on the door of apartment 212, and he and Chas were greeted by an unholy scream resonating from somewhere inside. After a moment, the door swung open and a disheveled, frantic looking woman stood in the doorway. She was dressed in pajamas and bathrobe with curlers in her hair and trails of tears running down her cheeks.

"Mr. Constantine," she said in a choked voice. "Thank you so much for coming. I called the church and they said you might be able to help." She looked over at Chas. "Is this your son?"

"No," he said quickly, trying to hold back a snort. "He's my..."

"Chas," Chas filled in for him, shaking the woman's hand.

"He's my Chas," John replied awkwardly, wincing at the way it sounded.

The woman gave them both an odd look and then pointed towards the closed door at the end of the hallway. "He's in there," she murmured, fresh tears running down her face. "Can you help him? Can you fix him?"

John didn't say anything. He didn't like to make promises he wasn't sure he could keep. Instead, he just starteddown the hallway; Chas followed behind like a little lost puppy dog.

When John pushed open the bedroom door, the first thing that Chas noticed was the stench. It smelled like John's cooking and the bowling alley locker room mixed together.

On the bed in the far corner of the room, the possessed boy was struggling against the bedsheets that were pinning him down. The boy let out a low growl followed by a ear piercing shriek.

John set his cigarette down on the dresser near the door and crossed the room to the curtin covered window.

"Those ties look weak, Chas. Hold him down."

Chas tried to say something along the lines of "Did you say hold him down?", but it came out as more of a series of high squeaks.

"Chas, do want to go sit out in the car?" John asked again. It was more of a threat than an actual question. Chas quickly shook his head and stumbled towards the bed. He crawled on top of the sweating, psychotic looking boy,trying not to look down.Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would ever be straddling a demon. It was uncomfortable, it was awkward, and he definitely did not want John to turn around and see him like this.

The possessed boy tried to claw at Chas, but he held down his arms, surprised by his own strenghth. His palms were sweating, his knees were shaking, and the smell was starting to get to him. He could feel the dizziness start set in and a rumble at the bottom of his stomach. He looked down at the sweat drenched demon.

"Hey, John," he called.

"Mmm," John replied, not really listening. He pulled the curtains off of the rod (which Chas found slightly rude and unnecessary, considering he could have just have just slid them open).

"John, I'm not feeling so well," Chas moaned. He opened his mouth to take in a deep breath as his stomach emptied it's contents on the possessed boy. At the same time the boy's arm ripped through the tie and pushed him so hard he went flying backwards off the bed. He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head where his scalp and the edge of the dresser connected. A trickle of blood ran down the back of his neck and he could feel himself growing hazy. As he struggled to get up, he knocked into the dresser again, sending the gallon of holy water that John had set down falling and spilling all over him.

_Is holy water supposed to burn? _was his last coherent thought before the realization of pain set in. "It burns, John!" he cried, rolling over. "I'm going to hell! The holy water burns, John! Make it stop!"

"It's just bleach, you asshole," John shouted, pulling him up. The burning subsided and Chas felt his legs sway beneath him. He was going to die, he knew it. The blow to the head was going to do him in. He hadn't imagined dying this way: covered in his own vomit, completely humiliated in front of his hero. No, not this way.

He collapsed, falling to the ground. "I'm falling into the abyss, John," he murmured.The cold hard-wood floor felt nice and cool and Chas almost smiled. He was being slowly swallowed up by a vast darkness. His sight went, but before he lapsed into complete unconciousness, he could John shouting.

"This is Constantine, you asshole. John Constantine."

Then complete and utter darkness.

* * *

"Thank you so very, very much, Mr. Constantine."

"You're welcome."

"I'm so sorry about what happened to your...your Chas."

"That's alright. I think a head injury might do him some good."

_So I'm not dead_, Chas realized happily as he opened up his eyes. _That's certainly a relief_. His eyesight was still blurry; all he could see was shapes and light. Too much light, in fact. He closed his eyes again and tried to ignore the pain throbbing in the back of his neck. All he wanted to do was sleep. He had never been so tired in his entire life.

He could feel himself being lifted up, and he felt almost weightless.

"I fell into the abyss, John," he murmured again, opening his eyes enough to see his mentor above him, carrying towards the door. "It was lovely."

"I'm sure it was, kid."

"I'm sorry, John." He could feel embarressed tears brimming his eyes as what had happened floated to the top of his mind. "I really fucked up."

"It happens to everyone."

"Everyone throws up and then faints?"

"Well, not everyone."

"I see a white light, John. Should I go towards it?"

"Stop being so fucking melodramatic, Chas."

Chas fell to the ground for the third time that night and the pain in the back of his head came rushing back.

"What the fuck was that for?" he questioned angrily, struggling to stand. His sight was back now, and he could see John popping a fresh cigarette in his mouth as he pressed the 'down' button for the elevator.

"You can walk," he said simply, blowing smoke in Chas' face.

"You know, it's really gross when you do that. Secondhand smoke kills, John, did you know that?"

"One can only hope," he replied as they stepped into the awaiting elevator.

The trip to the main level was silent. Chas didn't know what to say, other than he was so sorry for letting John down. His hopes of making John proud had been dashed. He'd never get a chance to show him what could do now.

_Maybe I can't do anything,_ Chas thought to himself as they stepped into the lobby. _Maybe I'm a Zeppo. Maybe all I can do is drive the fucking car. Maybe I should just leave now and let John forget all about me. I'm useless. I'm no good. I can't do anything right-_

"Chas. Where's the fucking car?"

* * *

"Did I mention how very sorry I am?" Chas asked for the thirteenth time as they sat on the curb outside the apartment building, waiting for the cab they had called a half hour before. John was on his tenth cigarette, which Chas took to mean that he was especially unhappy.

John didn't say a word. His frown grew deeper and he stubbed out the cigarette on the ground before promptly reaching for another one.

"I never should have brought you," he said after a moment, more to himself than to Chas. "You're too young. I just knew you were going to get hurt and you did. Christ, you're only seventeen."

"Eighteen," Chas contradicted.

"What?"

"Eighteen," he repeated. "Today's my birthday."

John held out his nearly empty pack of cigarettes. "Want one?"

"John, if I wanted to start smoking, I would have done it before now."

John looked down at the pack before chucking it across the street with all his might. The two of them watched as the gleaming white package floated down a stream of rain water, right into the sewer. They sat, watching, strangely transfixed.

"What the hell was that for?" Chas broke the eerie silence. John shrugged.

"I think I might quit. Happy birthday, kid."

"I really am sorry, John. I really am! Do you want to hit me or something? Take out your anger on me, okay? Hit me, I can take."

John stared at him and shook his head unbelievingly. "You're an idiot, kid, you know that, right? I mean, how can you just forget to take the keys out of the ignition? This is L.A. for Christ's sake, what did you think was going to happen?"

"Well, I guess I was more concerned with other things."

"I shouldn't have brought you," John repeated, running his hands through his hair. "You're not fucking ready and that's my fault. I haven't done anything to help you along. I've just let you sit and read those books. I made you think it was all shits and giggles. It's hard, kid. This is hard. I should have started preparing you before."

"I am prepared," Chas lied, gritting his teeth.

He expected John to argue right back, curse up a storm, maybe get angry andskulk away. He didn't expect John, his mentor, his hero, to punch him in the face.

Chas stumbled back as he felt a tingle in his nose and blood started rushing out of his nostrils.

He struggled to say something. Anything! But disbelief kept anything any complete thoughts from his escaping his lips. "You...why...you...what the... what the fuck was that for, man?"

John shrugged and pulled a hankerchief from his coat pocket. "You said you were prepared. You obviously weren't prepared."

"No, John, no, I was not prepared for you to fricken suckerpunch me, no, John, I really wasn't prepared for that!"

"You've got to be prepared for anything, kid. A demon is going to do anything it can to weaken you, including resorted to 'suckerpunching' you."

"Yeah, John. I can understand that. But your not a demon! At least I didn't think you were!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that you're not going to hell because you killed yourself, you're going to hell because you're a giant asshole who hits unsuspecting people!"

John pushed a shaking finger into Chas' chest and stared down at him, the fire of a thousand suns burning in his eyes. "Besides, you told me to hit you."

"I didn't think you would actually do it!"

"If you think this is hard, you've got another thing coming. A bloody nose is a cakewalk compared to what I have to go through!"

"Let's all cry for the Great John Constantine," Chas shouted, pushing John away. "Is that what you want, John? Is that all you want? Pity? Because you're not going to get. It may be your curse, but you could choose to look the other way. The only reason that help these people are for your own self gain! You're selfish, John. You're selfish and I hate it! I hate it and I hate you!"

Tears were falling freely from Chas' eyes. Usually he would have killed himself before he let John see him cry, but for some reason, it didn't really seem to matter anymore. John just stood there, taking the verbal abuse with a smile that Chas couldn't decipher.

"Wipe that shit eating grin off your face, John!" he demanded, wiping the tears away from his own. "I swear to God, I'm going to hit you! I'll hit you harder than you hit me!"

John expected Chas to argue, to curse up a storm, to skulk away. He didn't expect him to slug him right in the face. In fact, it surprised him so much he, the Great John Constantine, _fell over_. The Great John Constantine got knocked over by a puny little crying eighteen year old.

If that wasn't shame he didn't know what was.

Chas was standing above him, blood still dripping from his nose. He smiled down at him sardonically and his voice sounded a million miles away.

"You've got to be prepared, right, fucker? You've always got to be prepared."

* * *

They made a pretty sad pair, sitting there together on the street curb, hankerchiefs stuffed up their noses.

"This was my favorite shirt," John mused, staring down at his blood soaked white dress shirt.

"It looks like every other shirt you own," Chas muttered, staring at the light post across the street. The anger had drained out of his veins, replaced by regret. He hadn't meant to hit John, he really hadn't. But he could just feel all the anger and resent rush out and then...well, then, John was lying on the street looking stunned.

"It was 200. You gonna pay for a new one?"

Chas shook his head and turned away ashe chucked a pebble across the street.

"I'm sorry." John tried again after a moment. It was a very hard thing for him to say. The GreatJohn Constantine _never _apologized. Why should he? He was never wrong. Ok, he wasn't wrong...most of the time. "Really, kid-"

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Chas interrupted, throwing another pebble.

"Calling you what?"

"'Kid'. I'm not a kid, John. I'm eighteen now, that's not a kid's age."

John looked at his watch. "You've been eighteen for...about five hours. Have you gone through an a complete transformation since yesterday? I don't think so. You've got a lot to learn."

"I don't think that's it. I don't think it's about what I know at all."

"I just don't want you to get hurt, alright, Chas? I can't have that on my conscience."

"That's what I love about you, John," Chas commented snidely, throwing another pebble, harder this timeme. So hard that it made a sharp _clang_ sound as it bounced off the street lamp across the street. "Even when you're talking about my personal safety, you manage to make it sound selfish. You make it all about you. I think your scared, John. You're not scared about losing me. You can't trust yourself, can you? You can trust me, John, I swear you can."

There was silence between the two of them. Chasthoughta tumbleweed blowing down the dusty street would have lessened the tension, but no such luck. No tumbleweeds in sight. Only John and him, looking pretty pathetic on the side of the road.

"John," he continued. "You are the single best and worst person I have ever met. I'm going to hell, John, you want to know why? Worshipping false idols, man. I worshipped you! You're my hero! Why do you have to be so fucking selfish? What if you die, John? What if _you_ die and I could've helped? I can't have that on _my _conscience. "

Heexpected John to get angry, he expected him to curse up a storm, he expected him to skulk away. He even expected John to hit him. He didn't expect him to...kiss the top of his head?

Chas just stared in amazement as John spit at the ground like he had just swallowed some terrible tasting substance.

"What?" was the only word that Chas deemed appropriate for that moment.

John grimaced and awkwardly patted Chas' curly hair. "Look...you're important...to...me, alright, kid? I'm...glad you're around. Even if I don't show it that often."

Silence. A slightly less awkward silence, but still, silence.

John rose and motioned for Chas to follow. "C'mon, kid, I need some fucking cigarettes."

Chas stuck his hands in his pocket as he followed after John. "I thought you were quitting."

John looked up at the sky and let out a breath. He could see it as it floated like smoke in the chilly night air. "Yeah. Screw that."

"So," Chas said, scratching his head. "What the hell was bleach for, man?"

"Stains," John replied wistfully, looking down at his ruined shirt. "Like it matters now."

"So, can I help next time?" Chas questioned after a moment.

John smiled and slapped his on the back. "Ah, Chas...no."


End file.
